


Sleepless Nights

by shambhalala



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 05:40:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18462620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shambhalala/pseuds/shambhalala
Summary: After the destruction of Haven, Varya finds herself wandering Skyhold's battlements, unable to sleep. An unexpected encounter with another restless member of the Inquisition enriches a friendship, and rejuvenates feelings of romance.





	Sleepless Nights

[Varya also has a playlist!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6CbSX1XYDS7QwQ3wGOA1PG?si=X0PQkOi-Qv27rBZi3o_NYQ)

Warnings: minor character death, emotional distress.

Word count: 3,722

Song that helped me write this:

['A Day Without Rain' by Enya](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=81gfs4sd76E)

* * *

 

Flashes of faces. One after another. Armies on the hills, their torches tiny pinpricks of light against the snow. A dragon, screeching in the distance, echoing in her ears. People running, scrambling up the steps towards the chantry. But some were not moving.

“ _It_ ’ _s going to explode_ , _help_!”

Flames were rising in the chaos, eating their way towards stacks of potted oil. Underneath, Adan and Minaeve were trapped, screaming for aid. Dorian and Cassandra fended off the remaining Red Templars, as Varric and Varya scrambled to reach the survivors.

Varric dragged Adan towards him, gratitude flying off the man’s tongue as he crawled away. Varya reached towards Minaeve. Their hands found each other and their eyes locked, both of them filled with unadulterated fear and desperation. Summoning all her willpower and strength, Varya tightened her grip and pulled.

But it was too late.

In less than a second, the flames engulfed the pottery and with a colossal _bang_ , Minaeve’s grip on Varya’s hand was gone, shrouded in fire and piercing, pained screams.

Then, silence.

Varya staggered back, eyes wide in horror.

 _Another dead_.

As the others fled to the chantry, Varya stood motionless. The flames rose high above her head, but still, she did not move. Smoke filled her lungs, clouded her vision, making her breathing laboured and rapid.

 _She_ ’ _s dead_. _It_ ’ _s my fault_.

Another explosion threw her off her feet and she hurled towards the ground-

Varya gasped as her eyes shot open. Blinking, she focussed on her surroundings.

The room was dark, save for streaks of moonlight climbing across the ceiling. She wasn’t in Haven anymore; she was in her chambers, in Skyhold.

Another nightmare.

She heaved a sigh and sat up, noticing her bedding was in disarray again. Peeling the covers away from her, she stepped out of bed, making her way towards the balcony overlooking the castle.

The sky was deep blue, stars interspersed around the glow of the moon. As expected, the castle was quiet; one or two soldiers were posted by the front gates, leaving the battlements deserted. A slight breeze ghosted over her arms, making her shiver.

The Inquisition had only been at Skyhold just short of two weeks, since the destruction of Haven after Corypheus’s attack, but it was already beginning to feel like home to Varya. She wasn’t the only one feeling that way; Dorian had already chosen his favourite armchair by a window in the tower’s library, Sera had decorated the corner room of Herald’s Rest as her own, and Varric spent hours sat by the fireplace in the grand hall, writing all manner of drafts for his books and letters to friends in Kirkwall.

Yet, despite all she had helped to build, Varya still felt haunted by those they left behind in Haven. Though most made it out, those who didn’t plagued her nightmares, causing her unrest most nights as the rest of the castle slept.

Varya sighed and swept a hand through her hair, untangling the knots that had formed during her tumultuous slumber. Guilt pooled at the bottom of her stomach, and she pinched the bridge of her nose, squeezing her eyes shut. Despite the gratitude and respect everyone was showing to her as the newly appointed Inquisitor, she seldom felt like she’d done enough.

Deciding there was little use in trying to return to sleep in her current state, Varya returned inside and opened her chest of drawers, swapping her loose nightwear for beige trousers and a blue button-up. She opted to leave her boots behind, having spent plenty of time without footwear during her time in the Free Marches with her clan.

As she exited her chambers, she closed the door quietly behind her, but still the gentle _click_ echoed off the stone walls. With footsteps light, and arms folded, she wandered.

It was strange seeing the grand hall so desolate and dark; during the day, it was filled with builders climbing up and down the wooden beams, working on parts of the roof that had fallen into disrepair. Visiting noble lords and ladies would stand in small clusters, most of them complaining about the current lack of furniture. Vivienne would stand on the balcony overseeing all of this, and although she appeared disinterested, Varya knew she was listening, ever vigilant.

But now, no one was here. The torches on the walls were extinguished, and the last few embers were glowing in the fireplace. A distinct coldness occupied the room. Varya kept her footsteps quiet, insisting to herself that she was grateful for the solitude, though her heart knew otherwise.

Though her nights were often spent wallowing in guilt over those she had failed, her days were occupied by thoughts of another; namely, the Inquisition’s Commander, Cullen. They had spent much time together in Haven, getting to know one another in between war table discussions and training new recruits. Their pasts – he, a former Templar, she, a Dalish elf – were worlds apart; consequently, their conversations never ran dry, and his eyes rarely left hers as they talked. Varya’s heartbeat quickened whenever he flashed that dashing smile at her, and she indulged herself by flirtatiously teasing him now and again, leaving him a blushing, stuttering mess, much to her delight.

He had been the one to carry her to the encampment after the destruction of Haven. She had collapsed in the snow from exhaustion, but still she recalled the way he wrapped his cloak around her frozen body and picked her up, desperation clear in his voice as he shouted orders to the healers. When her little remaining energy was depleted and she tumbled into darkness, she could still feel him holding onto her for a moment longer, and hear him whispering prayers to the Maker, to the Holy Andraste, to anyone who would hear him.

Her heart sank as she made her way down the steps into the main courtyard. The chaos of renovating and settling into Skyhold meant that they had spent little time together recently. The Inquisition’s forces had almost doubled since their arrival and, as the Inquisitor, Varya and her companions were sought after across Thedas on a daily basis. The feelings between them had only just been planted, but whether or not they would ever blossom was still uncertain, along with much of their future.

Varya found herself climbing the steps to the battlements, where she spotted part of the wall that had crumbled, leaving her with a perfect view of the front gate and the mountains in the distance. She scraped her hair behind her ears and leant against the wall, trying to immerse herself in the view.

So much had happened to her in what felt like such a short space of time; gaining the anchor, being declared the Herald of Andraste, sealing a giant hole in the sky, coming face to face with Corypheus, and barely escaping Haven with her life. It didn’t seem too long ago that she was still roaming the Free Marches, barely a care in the world. Perhaps she was foolish, to wish for a flourishing romance amidst everything else?

 _No_. _Stop_. Varya shook her head at herself with a hefty sigh. The guilt in her stomach was spreading through her body, into her mind, making her doubt her every move. She needed to be strong, especially if she wanted to be a worthy leader.

A soft sound came from her left and she turned her head away from the mountains.

“Hello.”

Varya jumped back in shock with a sharp gasp. “Cole!”

“Did I frighten you?” He asked. Beneath his hat and hair, she could see his pale eyes were wide, apologetic. He knotted his hands together.

“A little. It’s all right.”

Silence. Cole turned to observe the view she was gazing at moments ago, then bowed his head.

“You’re not asleep.”

“No,” she sighed, looking at the floor in shame.

“It’s not the first time.”

“…No,” she repeated. There was little use in trying to hide or excuse her late-night escapades; she knew Cole would see right through her heart, like it was made of glass.

“You feel guilt. About her. The elf, red-haired like you, but so young. You tried to save her… but it was too late,” Cole continued, his voice solemn. He looked upwards again.

Varya felt a stinging sensation in her chest, tears beginning to form in her eyes. Cole turned to her. He placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and stepped closer. Varya looked at him in surprise. Although his eyes were on hers, he seemed to be looking at something far away, something unreachable.

“It wasn’t your fault. There was nothing more you could have done. The fire killed her, you did not. She knew this.”

She stared at him for several seconds, seeing only honesty and warmth in his gaze. A single tear escaped one of her eyes and landed between them, but her chest felt lighter with every shaky breath she drew. She smiled at Cole, reaching and placing one of her hands over his. He flinched at first, unused to such a gesture, but offered a small smile back at her.

“Thank you, Cole,” Varya said, removing her hand and wiping the tear stain from her cheek. Cole nodded in return, turning away to face the mountains once more. She stood next to him in silence, serenity replacing her guilt until it was all but dispersed.

“You should sleep,” Cole stated, his voice lighter and cheerier knowing he had helped her.

“I know,” Varya chuckled slightly. She considered saying the same to him, but doubted that he truly needed rest.

“Almost everyone else is asleep,” he continued.

Varya took this as lecture enough, and turned away to head for the steps.

“ _Almost_ everyone… but not him.”

Varya turned back around, a curious frown on her face.

“Who?” She asked.

Cole turned to face her again, his expression unreadable.

“She was so cold. So frail. Not enough time. Maker, I thought I’d lost her.” His voice was torn with anguish, the words pouring out unstoppably.

Varya pondered this for a moment, her stomach in knots. _Was he talking about_ …?

Before she could finish the thought, Cole spoke again. This time, his voice was monotone.

“I will not allow the events at Haven to happen again. You have my word.”

Her eyes widened, mouth dropping open. That was the exact pledge Cullen made to her upon their arrival at Skyhold.

The sound of a door opening came from behind them. Varya whipped around, seeing none other than the Commander himself. He stopped in his tracks when he saw her, clearly not expecting company at this time of night.

“Inquisitor!” The surprise was even more evident in his tone.

“C-commander,” Varya replied. “I-”

“What are-”

“I didn’t-”

The two stopped and stared at each other, laughing a little. Cullen ran a hand along the side of his neck as Varya intertwined hers behind her back. She was grateful for the darkness as she felt her cheeks flush.

“Forgive me, graciousness has clearly escaped us _both_ at this late hour,” Cullen apologised. “What are you doing awake at such a time?”

“I was just…” Varya began, turning around. No one was there.

“I… can’t sleep,” she sighed, turning back and pushing down the strange feeling that she had been stood for longer than she could recall.

“I know the feeling,” Cullen replied, stepping closer. Even in the darkness, the grey of her eyes sparkled back at him, making his heart leap in his chest. The feeling was short-lived, however, as he realised how little she was wearing on such a cold night.

“Maker’s breath, Inquisitor, you must be cold!” He exclaimed. Before Varya could politely insist that she was okay, Cullen had removed his fur-lined cloak and placed it gently on her shoulders. The hit of warmth was immediate, and she pulled the material further round her front, revealing a scent that was unmistakably Cullen. She cleared her throat, ignoring her quickening pulse.

“You _can_ call me Varya, you know,” she said with a soft chuckle.

“Oh, uh… right,” Cullen stammered in response, shifting from one foot to the other. The breeze ruffled the loose tunic and trousers he was wearing, exposing more of his chest than Varya had ever seen before. She turned back to the view, cheeks feeling as red as her hair. Frankly, it was the least amount of clothing she had _ever_ seen him wear; he was always head to toe in armour.

“Thank you, Cullen,” Varya interrupted their silence. She pulled his cloak further round her body again to demonstrate her gratitude. It was far too big for her, almost touching the floor, but it was unbelievably warm.

“Of course, Inq-Varya,” Cullen replied, smiling at her and rubbing the side of his neck once more.

Another silence settled between them, a comfortable one. They gazed at the countless stars, each of them appearing brighter the longer they marvelled. The vast openness of the night they shared brought a renewed sense of closeness between them, and Varya found herself wanting to open her heart to Cullen, and for him to do the same to her. Cullen appeared to be thinking along a similar path; with a clear of his throat, his attention was back on her, a softened look to his features, warmth in his eyes despite the cold.

“Is… is everything all right?”

Varya looked at him, her heart melting at the gentle concern on his face. Part of her wanted to lie and say she was fine, but their conversation after their arrival at Skyhold echoed in her mind.

 _You won_ ’ _t have to carry the Inquisition alone_ , _although it must feel like it_.

“To be honest… not really,” she sighed, looking at the floor. In the corner of her vision she saw Cullen shift to face her fully. He remained silent, allowing her to gather her thoughts.

“I know we saved countless lives, but… the ones we didn’t save – that _I_ didn’t save – the thought of them keeps me awake.”

Varya bit her lip and nestled her head further into Cullen’s cloak. She allowed her hair to fall forward, hoping it would obscure the tears springing to her eyes.

“Like Minaeve. She was so young. And Chancellor Roderick. He didn’t trust me for most of the time, but… he didn’t deserve to die for me. None of them did,” her voice wobbled at the end of her sentence, and she squeezed her eyes shut.

Cullen felt his heart sink in his chest as she stood, unmoving, tense and weary. In that moment, she was no longer the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, or any other esteemed title bestowed upon her; she was a survivor, a remarkable woman who was shouldering the blame for events she could not control. A lump formed in his throat, which he quickly swallowed. The feelings she described were all too familiar to him.

He mustered the confidence to place a cautious hand on her shoulder. She welcomed his touch, her head emerging from masses of fur and hair to look up at him.

“You mustn’t blame yourself. _None_ of us could have predicted the scale of the attack on Haven.” His words were firm, but his voice was delicate, understanding. Varya nodded slightly.

“We cannot bring back the dead, but we _can_ make sure more don’t die at the hands of Corypheus,” he continued. His hand squeezed her shoulder gently, making butterflies enter her stomach amidst the aching of her heart.

Cullen sighed, his gaze faltering. “I… I wish I could say the right thing to make the pain stop. Truly, I do. But… it’s a pain many of us have to live with,” he confessed, his voice quietening towards the end of his sentence. Memories of the Circle Tower bubbled to the surface of his mind, making a shiver run down his spine. He pushed them away, panicking that his attempt to relate to her guilt came off as shrouded in self-absorption. He truly cared for her, as more than just the Inquisitor; as a friend, and as, maybe, one day…

 _Get it together_ , _Rutherford_. _She has enough on her mind already_ , _you_ ’ _re the least of her concerns_ , he scolded himself.

“What you’ve said has helped a lot, actually,” Varya replied, casting him a grateful smile. Her eyes shone back at him with more than repressed tears, making his heart hammer in his chest.

“Oh, well, good,” he replied, returning her smile and ghosting his hand away from her shoulder. It felt warm from where he had touched her, a sensation that soon worked its way upwards and into his cheeks.

Varya straightened her back and shook her hair away from her face. Such a simple action, yet to Cullen, she made it look graceful.

“You’re struggling to sleep as well, I take it?” She asked, turning to face him. “You said you know the feeling.”

Although touched by her attentiveness to his words, Cullen’s features hardened a fraction, and he heaved a sigh through his nostrils. He wasn’t sure if he was ready to burden her with the fallbacks of his status as an ex-Templar; if he would _ever_ be.

“Just bad dreams, that’s all,” he shrugged off her concerns. It wasn’t a lie, either. “Don’t worry, I will make sure the troops don’t fall behind just because their Commander lacks a few hours’ sleep.”

“That’s not what I was concerned about, Cullen.” Varya smiled a little and shook her head at him.

“I-oh,” Cullen stammered, eyes widening and glancing at the floor when he realised what she meant. His hand returned to his neck.

“I’ll… I’ll be all right, Varya. But thank you.” Although he wasn’t sure he fully believed himself, he felt a surge of peaceful optimism just from being in her presence.

“You’d better be,” Varya joked with a raised eyebrow, her smile taking a mischievous turn.

Cullen grinned back at her, head titling to one side; a natural reaction to her good-natured teasing.

“And why is that?” He laughed.

“Well, who else am I going to borrow cloaks from for my late-night adventuring?” She spread out her arms under the material and twirled round. In her haste, she inadvertently stood on the trailing end and slipped with a yelp. Cullen darted forward, grabbing her hand and pulling her back up into his grasp before she hit the cold stone beneath.

“Be careful!” He exclaimed, but he was still smiling. Varya giggled back at him, the sound like music to his ears.

As their laughter died down, they found themselves standing there for a moment longer, hands intertwined, mere inches separating their bodies. Varya looked up at Cullen, eyes sparkling brighter than the stars above them. His expression matched hers, and everything around them seemed distant, irrelevant. A thousand silent words and wants were exchanged in their gazes, rekindling the closeness they had not been able to nurture since the Inquisition had taken centre stage.

Varya swallowed, squeezing his hand. “You _will_ be all right, won’t you?”

Cullen’s heart was on fire, nerves alight with a tidal wave of emotions that he had never felt before. Though his mouth felt dry and words were muddled in his head as he pulled himself out of her dazzling grey eyes, he managed to muster a simple, honest reply.

“I… I think so.”

Varya’s smile illuminated her whole face; it was one of hope, of confidence, and it filled them both with strength. Cullen couldn’t help but smile back. How desperately he wanted to tell her everything; about his lyrium withdrawal, about why he left the Templars – Maker, he’d tell her about the feelings he had for her that raced through his brain, if he could summon the courage – but he knew it would have to wait. There would come another, better time.

They became aware of just how close they still were, and Cullen cleared his throat, gently and reluctantly releasing his hold. Varya glanced at her feet, already missing his touch, then back at Cullen. He was still looking at her, and her heart soared. She longed to stay there with him, embracing on the battlements, bathing in moonlight, but her fatigue soon became apparent, and she felt her eyelids droop.

“Perhaps you should rest now,” Cullen suggested.

“Will _you_?” She countered.

“… I’ll try,” he smiled. He bit his tongue to stop himself from adding two extra words that could shift everything between them.

 _For you_.

“That’s the best we can hope for,” Varya chuckled, beginning to shimmy out of Cullen’s cloak.

“Thank you again,” she said as she pulled it from behind her and held it out to him.

Cullen merely replied with a half-smile. Although he wished he could extend their night together until the sun emerged from behind the mountains and birds in the trees began to sing, he felt sleep calling him, too. Though his heart was rejuvenated from their time together, his head was starting to feel clouded, and heavy.

“Are you sure you don’t want to keep it? You have a longer walk back to your chambers than I,” he offered.

Varya raised an eyebrow at him again. “And explain to everyone why I’m emerging from my chambers with the _Commander_ ’ _s cloak_? Dorian and Sera would never let me hear the end of it,” she laughed, folding the cloak and throwing it to him.

Flustered by her comment and regretting the naivete of his question, Cullen stumbled forward, only just catching it.

“Oh, uh, I didn’t mean- of course, forgive me,” Cullen replied with a clear of his throat. He considered burying his head in the folds of the garment as his eyes darted around. When he did eventually meet her gaze, he was pleasantly surprised to see her beaming at him, entirely at ease and unoffended. This only made Cullen feel even _more_ bashful, and the tidal waves of warm, foreign emotions crashed into his chest once more.

“Goodnight, Cullen. Sleep well.” Her voice was as mellow as her smile, and she turned away and descended the steps to the battlements.

Cullen stood there, speechless, for a moment longer, his arms tangled in soft fur.

“…Goodnight,” he spoke, though only the moon and stars heard him.

**Author's Note:**

> I actually came up with the idea of Varya being restless after Haven's destruction quite a while ago, but I waited before writing this so I could finish the game first. To me, this fitted in perfectly with her blossoming relationship with Cullen, as he is undoubtedly a restless guy too!  
> I have more plans to write a post-Trespasser fic for these two as I can't get enough of them, but I hope you enjoyed this throwback to the early days of their relationship for now!  
> 


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